


all that you wish

by liesmyth



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Behind the VERY SCARY door, Canon-Typical Homophobia, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Getting Together, M/M, Pennywise Mindfuckery, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 08:15:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26470033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liesmyth/pseuds/liesmyth
Summary: “Then I guess this is a dream,” the thing says, in Eddie’s voice. “The real Eddie wouldn’t even go near you if he knew what a sick fuck you are.”Or: in Neibolt, Richie Tozier faces his worst fear.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 46
Kudos: 486
Collections: Jump Scare 2020





	all that you wish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reeby10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reeby10/gifts).



The shower in Richie’s room at the Townhouse is small and dingy and the water pressure kind of sucks, but it’s still pretty far from being the saddest place Richie Tozier jerked off in. Faint praise, but it’ll do.

The jerking off is nothing to write home about – not so sad that it makes him feel like a pathetic sack of shit, but nothing spectacular either. The true selling point is the fact that Eddie is sleeping just next door, something that turns the air electrifying and makes Richie’s skin tingle every time he thinks about it. _Eddie’s sleeping next door,_ a powerful statement that conjures all sorts of dirty fantasies and guarantees a mildly satisfying orgasm without even needing to work for it, such is the power of Eddie Kaspbrak’s presence and such is the intensity of Richie’s uncomfortable, decades-old crush. 

On the downside, Eddie is _sleeping next door_ and Richie is a horrible little creep who can’t stop fantasising about his newly rediscovered best friend, who definitely wouldn’t be alright with it if he knew. That does spoil the mood a little, but Richie’s uncomfortable boner won’t be stopped. He jerks off in the middle of the night because he can’t sleep and it beats thinking about how he’s gonna die horribly tomorrow, and then when he wakes up he jerks off again because it’s ass o’clock in the morning and Eddie’s probably getting dressed _right now,_ squeezing that tight little ass into briefs – boxers, maybe? – and wondering what colour underwear Eddie Kaspbrak wears is still better than fixating on his own impending death by clown.

Richie’s the last one to come down, hair still wet, and Eddie looks him up and down inquisitively. Richie tries very hard not to look guilty.

“Were you showering?” Eddie asks

“Yes?” Richie says, cautiously. The chances of Eddie knowing what he was doing in the shower are minimal, but something inside of him shrivels and dies in mortification just the same. So Richie says, “Sorry I kept you waiting, I had to jerk off,” and waits for Eddie to roll his eyes at how disgusting he is. _Ah-ah,_ just a joke, nothing to see here.

Mercifully, Eddie just says, “The water pressure in this place sucks,” then turns to the others. “Great, now that Richie’s done jerking off, where the fuck are we supposed to meet Mike at?”

“The library,” Bev says. Eddie frowns.

“Where the fuck’s the library?”

“I k-know where it is,” Bill says. “Hey does anyone have coffee?”

There’s no coffee to be found, an ominous start to a shitty day. First, there’s the clubhouse, and if Richie wasn’t already feeling kind of gross he surely does now, looking at the flimsy old hammock and remembering all the times his heart skipped a beat and he had to put a jacket over his crotch just because Eddie decided to climb in there with him. After that, Mike decides to send them on a fucking treasure hunt all over town, and Richie’s confronted with the unwelcome memory that is kind of a miracle he made it out Derry alive once already, and chances are slim he’ll get lucky twice. 

When he tries to hightail it out of town he’s confronted with the equally unwelcome fact that maybe he’s kind of a shitty friend after all, and when he decides to come back he ends up killing a dude with an axe to the head. To be fair, the dude is Henry Bowers, who kind of deserved a cleaver to the head if anyone ever did, but it didn’t mean _Richie_ had to be the one to do it. He feels repulsed and has to hightail at full speed away from what’s now a crime scene, and he’s in the library toilet rinsing his face when Eddie knocks on the doorjamb with something in his hand.

“Breath mints,” he says. “I thought you’d want… they’re sugar-free, here.” 

He throws the pack to Richie’s chest and Richie fumbles with it, nearly missing it entirely until he manages to grab it by the tips of his fingertips. It’s undignified and probably makes him look like a total dumbass, but when he straightens himself up again he catches Eddie smiling, so – that’s something, at least.

Mike marches into the restroom five seconds later, saying that they’re gonna chase Big Bill all the way into fucking Neibolt and, by the way, that kid Richie yelled at just yesterday has become Pennywise’s latest snack, and isn’t that just fantastic? The kid couldn’t have been older than eight or nine; Richie thinks of his annoying little face and feels like a slimeball for even considering leaving. He joins the others in Ben’s rental car and they all drive off merrily towards their impending doom, Eddie’s teeth nearly chattering, Beverly looking like she’d murder for a cigarette. Richie doesn't want to jinx it, but he has a horrible feeling that his day is only going to get worse. 

When it does get worse, Richie tries to keep his cool. He tries really hard through Stan’s spider-ghost and the horrible stench of the sewers and the creepy ritual, but when that goes tits-up he finds himself running for dear life. He’s left with just about enough clarity to keep Eddie in his sight as he runs through the tunnels, making sure they’re together, and then he takes a turn and there are the stupid fucking doors again, like he’s still a child to play mind games with. 

VERY SCARY, SCARY, NOT SCARY AT ALL. Richie opens the last one and wishes he hadn’t. There’s bile in his throat; next to him, Eddie yelps. “Are those– _legs_? Rich, are those–” 

There’s no time to talk. There’s a horrible sound behind them, thrashing and screeching and maws snapping hungrily, like if they don’t hurry the hell up they’re gonna end up cut in half and hung next to Betty Ripsom’s hindquarters. Richie throws himself bodily towards the first door, the one that says VERY SCARY, dragging Eddie with him. He slams it open and jumps inside, tugging Eddie along, and then the door snaps shut behind them and they’re alone in the darkness.

It’s pitch black. Richie blinks, and it doesn’t go away. He tries to turn on the flashlight in his hand but it doesn’t work; the button clicks empty. _Click, click._ Richie searches blindly for Eddie in the dark, finding a corner of sleeve. He grabs it.

“Where are we?” Eddie whispers. Richie shrugs before remembering Eddie can’t see him.

“Fuck me if I know. But it’s not chasing after us anymore, so there’s– _fuck!_ ” he yells. “Fuck, there’s something– I just stumbled on something.”

He kneels down to check, pawning in the dark with his left hand, right still holding to Eddie’s sleeve. It’s kind of fucked up that they’re probably about to die and he’s still too chicken to hold Eddie’s hand for real. Then he reaches out and feels–

“A shoe? Shit, fuck, Eds, I think it’s a dead body.”

Except it isn’t. Those are shoes alright, trainers by the feel of it, but they’re empty. Eddie kneels at his side, feeling out along with him.

“Shoes here, too,” he announces. “I think – _ouch,_ shit. Hit my head,” he explains before Richie can freak out. “I think we’re somewhere… enclosed? These feel like clothes, too. Sleeves… coats.”

Then it hits him. Shoes, coats, small enclosed space. The label: VERY SCARY. They’re in a motherfucking _closet_ and, oh, Pennywise’s having way too much fun with this.

Richie laughs. It’s not a nice sound, and he finds he can’t stop, laughing and laughing until his ribs hurt and he lets go of Eddie’s sleeve to slap his thighs in delirious amusement.

“Richie?” Eddie sounds worried, and that only makes Richie laugh harder because Eddie has no fucking idea. _Eds, I think we found fucking Narnia,_ he wants to say, but it hurts to talk, he can’t breathe. He loses his balance and falls face-first into the rows of shoes and coats, and then he’s falling and falling and falling–

Richie screams.

He wakes up.

Richie blinks awake to sunlight streaking over the bed and the aroma of coffee seeping through the air. He feels sluggish and afraid at the same time, heart beating so loud he can feel in his throat, confused and wary – he jumps to his feet, alert. His bedroom doesn’t look like he remembers it, the wallpaper’s different and so's the bedspread, there are noises of someone moving in the next room. For some reason, he wishes he had a baseball bat.

He skulks to the kitchen, walking slowly. Everything’s too bright. He feels paranoid, tense, like at any moment now–

“Hey, Rich.”

He jumps, spooked, but it’s just…

“Eddie?”

“No shit,” Eddie says. “I made coffee if you want some. And poached eggs. And I thought, salmon toast with–”

“You’re _making_ _breakfast_?”

Just as he says it, it feels so stupid that he’d even ask. Of course Eddie would make breakfast, healthy little freak that he is. The kitchen looks different than Richie remembers, tidier and more lived-in, with a spice cabinet that’s small but still a spice cabinet nevertheless. And that makes sense too, that Eddie would change things around like he did when he took possession of Richie’s kitchen, with his calorie counting and his enthusiasm for fad diets that he drops after three days when Richie finds him eating PBJ sandwiches at midnight.

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Eddie’s saying. “So are you actually gonna sit down and eat or are you just gonna stare at me like a deep-sea fish?”

“I’m – like a _what_?”

“Deep-sea fish. Y’know those fishes with the real big eyes…” And then Eddie slides around the kitchen island and Richie forgets everything he was going to say, because Eddie tugs down his neck and plants a kiss on Richie’s mouth.

“What the fuck?”

“Oh, shut up, like you don’t call me worse, like, all the fucking time.”

Eddie slides a coffee cup across the counter, Richie takes it just to have something to do with his hands. It feels solid enough to his touch, and warm. 

“I put sugar in it,” Eddie says, and Richie can only stand there staring at this domestic version of Eddie who just kissed him on the mouth then gave him coffee like some dreamy housewife fantasy straight out of Richie’s wildest dreams.

“Did you just _kiss me_?”

Eddie bristles. “Yeah and you taste like ass so, like, either you drink that or you go brush your teeth ‘cause I’m not doing it again.”

Richie drinks his coffee mechanically. It’s sickeningly sweet, which is exactly how he likes it, and he gulps it down in a heartbeat. He remembers Eddie making him coffee before, many times, remembers Eddie kissing him good morning every morning even if afterwards he’ll whine about morning breath, remembers that Eddie was the one who picked out the new bedspread and that mosaic frame above the stove even if he can’t remember when Eddie moved in, or–

“Richie, are you–”

“Do you remember Derry?” Richie blurts out. 

Eddie’s face makes a weird thing with his eyebrows that shouldn’t look that cute on a grown man.

“I try not to.”

“Yeah but… how did we get away?”

Eddie frowns. “Get away?”

“How did we get out of Neibolt?”

“Rich, that was forever ago.” Eddie looks worried now, and Richie feels guilty about that. He hates putting that look on Eddie’s face.

“It was?”

“Yeah? Why are you bringing that up now, dude?” He’s advancing on Richie with that cute little frown, and Richie notices for the first time that he’s wearing runner shorts.

“I mean, I woke up and I thought I was…”

“Rich, it doesn’t matter,” Eddie says. Then he kisses him.

It’s nothing like the short peek from before. This is a real filthy kiss, all teeth and tongue and Eddie gasping into Richie’s mouth like he’s trying to suck his brains out and Richie’s kind of a fan of that, to be honest. Eddie’s hands are just as aggressive as his mouth, sliding up the back of Richie’s t-shirt and down the waistband of his sleep shorts. Something in Richie’s brain perks up just as his dick does, too – this is not a good morning kiss, he realises, or even a let’s-make-out kinda kiss. This is the kind of kiss that comes rights before sex, hungry and demanding. He doesn’t have the time to ask himself what brought this about before Eddie’s got him backed up against the kitchen island, Eddie’s lips on his neck in a way that makes him whimper, Eddie’s hand brushing his dick over Richie’s underwear like all his erotic dreams wrapped into one.

“Hey, Eds,” he tries to say, but Eddie just hums where he’s got his mouth against Richie’s collarbone. Richie’s pretty sure he jerked off to the thought of Eddie giving him a hickey more times than he can remember – hey, isn’t there something weird about that? Remembering? He feels fuzzy, overheated, like something’s not quite right, but that’s a stupid thought. He’s with Eddie – Eddie who’s kissing him like Richie is everything he’s ever wanted, Eddie who Richie is sure is about to give him a handjob. If it weren't for the way Eddie feels against him, solid and handsy and smelling like coffee and cologne, Richie would think he was just having the best sex dream of his life.

“Eddie, hey.” He pulls back. “Is this a dream?”

Eddie gives him that adorable frown again. Richie wants to kiss it off his brow, so he does, and then he kisses lower – the side of Eddie’s face, the corner of his lips. He opens his mouth against Eddie’s and Eddie makes an approving noise, letting out a small little sigh that gets all the blood flowing to Richie’s dick. It feels too vivid to be a dream, too physical – he pulls back to slip Eddie’s shirt up and gets a peek at Eddie’s chest, solid and kind of flushed, like Eddie’s into this just as much as Richie is.

“I don’t know, man. You tell me.”

Richie falls again.

He’s in a hammock, swinging slowly, and Eddie’s heavy and solid on top of him. Eddie is _hard_ – that is Eddie’s dick, Richie’s pretty sure, pressing against Richie’s lower stomach through the thin layers of clothes between them. Eddie is _turned on_ just because he kissed Richie and Richie kissed him back. Eddie’s kissing him now, sucking on the side of Richie’s neck, hips rocking so there’s no way Richie could miss the way Eddie’s cock is rubbing against his own through both their pants. Richie’s next breath catches somewhere low in his throat. He whimpers, and Eddie smiles into the curve of his jaw. 

“Is this a dream?”

“Don’t be a sap,” Eddie whispers against Richie’s lips.

“No, I mean – fuck. Is _this_ a dream?” This: the way it feels when Richie thrusts up his hips and his half-hard cock brushes against Eddie’s, making him groan. The way Eddie’s mouth feels against his own, soft and wet and hungry. Eddie’s voice in his ear, the sunlight and the breeze on his face. 

Eddie draws up, and Richie whines at the loss.

“If this was a dream…” Eddie sits up slowly, straddling Richie’s lap. He rocks his hips, and Richie’s lost. “Would I do this?”

“Yeah,” Richie breathes. He can’t think; Eddie’s hands are on his chest, Eddie’s hard dick frotting up against him like he can’t even wait to take his pants off.

“And this.” Eddie kisses under Richie’s ear just as his hand slides down between their bodies, cupping Richie’s dick. “What about this?”

“Yes – _shit!_ ” Richie hisses, twisting hopelessly under Eddie’s body as Eddie’s quick fingers pull down his fly. “Yes.”

“Yeah, baby? You like it?” 

Richie hums. He can’t think. He can’t fucking do anything, just sit there and take it, Eddie’s touch, Eddie’s clever fingers getting him all the way to hard. Eddie’s tongue against the lobe of his ear, tracing the shape of it.

“What about it, do you like this?”

“Yeah, shit, fuck – Eddie, keep–”

And then Eddie pulls back.

“Then I guess this is a dream,” he says, straddling Richie’s lap, rocking against him. His voice changes. “Because there's no way the real Eddie would even think twice about kissing you, you pathetic sack of shit.”

Richie freezes. He tries to sit up but he can’t, a solid hand on his chest pushing him down. 

“I can’t even stand to look at you,” the thing says, still in Eddie’s voice, honey-sweet. “And you… you look at me and your mouth waters with how much you want to suck my dick, you filthy little pervert.”

The worst part is, during all of it it’s still touching Richie’s dick, jerking him half-heartedly with Eddie’s hand and Eddie’s face staring down at him, the scent of Eddie’s skin keeping him hard. Richie feels chilled to the bone.

“Eddie wouldn’t even go near you if he knew what a sick fuck you are. You’re getting off on this,” Not-Eddie says it with its hand on Richie’s cock and its lips against Richie’s neck, sounding amused like it knows all the things Richie thinks when he looks into the mirror, all the shit he told himself when he was twenty years old and lost, jerking off to some straight guy who’d beat him up if he knew. The thing kisses Richie’s neck, wearing Eddie’s face and Eddie’s mouth, and Richie wishes he could scream but he’s too terrified to even try. He tries to push Not-Eddie off him, but it’s too strong. The hammock swings wildly. 

“Do you remember when we were kids?” the thing says. “Every day you couldn’t wait to get on the stupid hammock and rub all over me you disgusting creep–”

“Shut up.” Angry as he is, Richie finds that he can talk again. “Shut up, shut up, you’re not Eddie. Shut the fuck up.”

“And you didn’t change at all, didn’t you? You sick bastard. You look at me and you still–”

The hammock is spinning. Richie wants to scream, he wants to claw that thing off him, kick it to the ground and stomp over that sharp cruel mouth until its maw snaps.

“Get away–”

“–You deserve to suffer, you filthy pervert, they should’ve beaten _you_ to death, you fucking queer…”

“–GET AWAY!”

The hammock swings one last time. Richie kicks with all his strength, driving his knee into Not-Eddie’s stomach. It hisses and yelps, skin turning sickening pale like that of a corpse. Its teeth are pointy and its eyes yellow, and it looks at Richie as it licks its purple lips. In a horrible voice that’s not like Eddie at all, it says, “I’m going to eat your heart.”

“Get the fuck away, you disgusting piece of shit.”

That’s Eddie’s voice.

Richie turns around to see the real Eddie, pale and scared and angry. He’s got something compact in his hand – his flashlight, Richie sees, watching trapped in what’s left of the hammock as Eddie grabs it like a baton and uses the butt of it to hit Pennywise in the face. Once, twice – Eddie slams the heavy weight of the flashlight into Pennywise’s nose and cheek and then its temple, slamming it with a morbid _crunch_. Its face, so much like Eddie’s, is broken and bleeding and grotesquely concave, and Eddie’s still going at it.

“You fucking…” Eddie shoves Not-Eddie down to the floor and kicks it between the ribs, hard. It screeches, and Eddie hits it again and again before the thing manages to roll away, changing shape as it does. It gets bigger, sturdier, hands elongating into sharp claws.

“Eddie, get away!” Richie screams. “Eddie–”

He manages to disentangle himself just in time, lunging at Eddie and pulling him away.

“Eddie, we gotta– it’s got _claws_ , EDDIE. Let’s go.” Richie tugs Eddie’s sleeve with newfound urgency, looking around for…

“ _There_!”

The wooden door is right there, small and unassuming. They run to it, tripping over each other. Eddie wrenches it open and they jump through it. Richie slams his close with his entire bodyweight, pressing his back against it. They feel a thud on the other side, then nothing.

They stand there in silence, catching their breaths. Richie’s heart is beating loudly in his ears, rabbitting madly like it’s about to slam out of his chest. He can’t bring himself to look Eddie in the face.

“Rich…”

“How much of that did you see?”

“Richie,” Eddie tries again. Richie turns to face him, not quite meeting Eddie’s eyes.

“No, I think you should tell me. How much of it?”

There’s a long pause, and Richie knows what Eddie’s about to say before he speaks. Then, “I think I saw all of it.”

“Great,” Richie says. “Fucking fantastic.”

He wishes the floor would just swallow him. He wishes Pennywise had skewered him open back there in that fucking closet, so at least Eddie would remember him fondly.

Eddie keeps talking. “Richie, man, you coulda told me. You could–”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Richie snaps. “When exactly should I – when I was a scared little twerp who got beat up every other week and you were living with your mom? Or yesterday, when I saw you after twenty-five years, like, ‘Hey, by the way, Eds, I’m still in love with you?’ Fuck that. Fuck all of this.”

“You’re in love with me?”

“Fuck _all_ of this,” Richie says, emphatically. "Fuck it all." And then, “No shit? Thought you said you saw all that shitfest back there.”

“Yeah, but…” Feeling brave enough to chance a peek at Eddie’s face, Richie sees the way he arches his stupid fucking eyebrows as he speaks. “I thought maybe it was just, like. A sex thing?”

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s also a sex thing. My heart _and_ my dick beat only for you. Look, Eds, can we just…” Richie drags the palms of his hands over his eyes, sighing. “Can we pretend nothing happened? We go back there, we’re gonna kill the clown and then, I swear I’ll go back home and you’ll never have to talk to me again.” 

“You don't have to do that, Richie, oh my god. Look…”

“What?”

“Is that really what you think about me?”

“ _What_?” Richie repeats, getting faintly hysterical. “Do you want me to say it again, ‘cause I just told you –”

“No, I mean.” Eddie does that karate-chop air thing that he does, and it’s as cute on this grown-ass man as it always was. God, Richie’s fucked. “That’s not what I meant, fucking keep up. Do you really… do you think I’d say those things to you?”

He doesn’t have to explain what he means. Richie can still hear Eddie’s voice coming from Pennywise’s mouth, ringing in his ears. _You filthy pervert. You creep_. 

“No,” Richie says slowly, trying it out for the first time. Then, with more surety, “No, but I couldn't blame you if you thought… I mean…”

“Shut the fuck up, Richie, oh my god. I would never... you gotta know that,” Eddie says. “I’m sorry if I made you think – Look,” he says, deliberate, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “Look, what if... what if I want to see you again?” He’s speaking quickly, stumbling on the words. “After this, I mean, if you go home I want to – _Fuck_. Fuck it, fuck you, Rich, I can't believe you never told me. I can't believe the fucking clown knew before I did.” 

Eddie glares in Richie’s direction, looking like a hissy hedgehog. He starts pacing, even though they’re in a fucking sewer tunnel after running for their lives, and the space’s kinda limited. 

“Hey, did you see I beat it up? I was so close.”

“You were close to getting skewered,” Richie remembers the terror he felt when he saw those claws get longer, sharp and deadly.

“Yes but before that, when it wasn’t changing shape. I totally beat him up.”

The thought flies through both their minds at the same time. They look at each other and Eddie grins, bright and beautiful.

“I totally could have–”

“If we make it look like that again we could–”

“Earlier, at the pharmacy, I made it small. We could–”

“ _Fuck yeah_ ,” Richie whispers, fervently. “We got this. Now we find the others, we get rid of it, we ride into the sunset.” 

“And I’ll never have to talk to you again?” Eddie asks. “Tough shit. That’s not happening. I want to talk to you. I _like_ talking to you, you dumbass.”

“Okay,” Richie says, carefully.

“I like talking to you, and I like… hey, Rich?” And then, before Richie can say anything, “I swear I’m not fucking with you, I swear. You never told me before so I never – I wish you had. Can I tell you something dumb?”

He’s speaking fast, that way Eddie does when he gets worked up about something, eyes flickering around and avoiding Richie’s face entirely. 

“Eds, you can tell me anything”, Richie says. Eddie still isn't looking at him. 

“Earlier with – I was so mad. I watched all of it and you couldn't hear me, and it looked like me saying those things, and you couldn't see me, I couldn't touch you and you'd never told me any of it.” He has to pause, breathless. He smooths down his hand and closes his eyes and then finally looks to Richie again, wide-eyed and determined. 

“I want – I think I want to kiss you,” Eddie says, slow and determined. 

Everything stops.

“What?”

“I'm not fucking with you, I swear,” Eddie says quickly. “I swear. I just. I want to – to see if… I think we should. To try it.”

“To try it,” Richie echoes. 

He feels like he’s stuck in that dream again, except dream Eddie wouldn’t be half as awkward, cheeks flushed in that way he got when he was a kid and Richie teased him one too many times. Richie loves that he remembers this about Eddie, loves that there’s still so much of the boy he knew in the adult Eddie is now.

“To try,” Richie says again, just to make sure. 

“Yes, to try, are you gonna repeat everything I say?”

“No, it's just – I think you broke my brain.”

Richie doesn't move. Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“Geez,” he says, and then he tugs Richie's head down and climbs up to kiss him, rushed and uncoordinated and with so much fierce determination he nearly headbutts Richie’s face off. 

It’s glorious. It’s all too short and kind of too messy but Eddie’s panting afterwards, cheekbones streaked pink, and it’s all because Richie kissed him and, chances are, he might get to do it again. 

“Alright?” Richie asks, trying very hard to play it cool, and Eddie mercifully doesn't laugh in his face. 

“I guess,” he says, pretending to think about it. “I think we should, you know, try it again. Later.”

Richie nods. “Later,” he says, a promise with all that it carries with it. They’re getting out of here alive.

This time, when they run into the tunnels, Richie feels brave enough to hold Eddie’s hand.


End file.
